


Sentiment Is a Critical Component

by consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective/pseuds/consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock comes home very late and John tells him exactly what he thinks about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentiment Is a Critical Component

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of short stories, anecdotes, etc. There will not be a continuing plotline, exactly. And if anyone wants to contribute please let me know.
> 
> Mar 1 2016: NOPE, nope. No continuing plotline, no continuing anything. This is a one-shot and it's going to stay that way.

It’s five o’clock when Sherlock returns to the flat.

The door opens slowly, as if Sherlock knows he’s done something wrong, like the child who’s been called to the headmaster’s office for misconduct.

John looks up slowly, deliberately. Hinges creak as Sherlock steps slowly into the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes widen fractionally as he takes in John’s reddened eyes and the three empty mugs sitting on the table. He holds a fourth in his hands, one-third full of coffee. John blinks slowly and stares at Sherlock, who is half-drenched in something bluish and gelatinous.

“Where,” John begins slowly, “the _hell_ have you been for the last week?”

Sherlock looks around the empty room for help. “I told you about the case—“ he begins.

“No, Sherlock,” John says dangerously, “you told me you’d be gone for a _couple of days_. Now, last I checked, eight days is not nearly the same as a couple, so you’d better start explaining right now, or so help me God I will—I’ll—I’ll take away your violin and throw away all of your experiments and tell Lestrade that you shouldn’t be given any more cases, and he’ll listen to me, you know he will,” John completes, out of breath.

“But I solved the—"

John’s eyes widen. Sherlock stops talking when he sees John’s hands curling. The bloodshot whites of his eyes are completely visible around the irises.

Sherlock realizes his mistake. “You’re angry.”

“Fuck angry, Sherlock, I’m _furious_ and I don’t know how that big brain of yours can’t see that. You know, I called in sick at work this week to stay home. I’ve stayed up until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, for the last three nights, hoping you’d show up. I’d like to think that you just didn’t get my texts, but we both know that isn’t true. So you’ve got sixty seconds to give me a good reason for not answering.”

Sherlock has the grace to look ashamed. He breaks eye contact and looks out the window. John looks pointedly at his watch before returning his glare to Sherlock.

“I—I don’t think I’ll be able to give you an answer that you’ll find acceptable,” Sherlock says finally.

“Mm. And why not?” John demands.

“I ignored your texts,” Sherlock confesses, glancing back at John, “I—I was occupied and it didn’t seem important at the time and I couldn’t risk the distraction…” He trails off, knowing he’s said something wrong, but unable to take it back.

Silence fills the room. Sherlock returns his gaze to the window. Outside, it has started drizzling lightly, but the sound of raindrops doesn't reach through the walls. The fall of water outside the window is a silent movie from inside the flat.

John sighs, several minutes later. The tension eases very, _very_ slightly.

“I did miss you,” Sherlock blurts suddenly.

His flatmate goes still. Sherlock turns finally back to John. They examine each other quietly.

“I’ll go clean this off,” Sherlock mutters when John remains silent. He starts to head out of the room.

John cuts him off. “No, wait, come here.”

Wary, Sherlock turns back around and walks towards his friend, unsure of his position. John smiles slightly. His red-rimmed eyes, oddly enough, make the grin more endearing, and Sherlock speeds up his walk.

John punches him in the jaw when he’s two paces away, and Sherlock stumbles back in shock, barely managing to keep his footing.

“That’s for making me worry.”

And before Sherlock can comprehend the situation, John pulls him into a tight embrace and the shock is renewed.

“And that’s for coming back.”

Because Sherlock is facing opposite of John, he can’t see the tears—exhausted, joyful, wretched tears—trickling down his flatmate’s face.


End file.
